Boats, Cake And Other Catastrophes
by Brown-eyed Wolf
Summary: Malfoy is desperate for the perfect way to propose. Turns out it's a harder mission than he initially expected. "Needless to say, he didn't feel up to proposing while there was a fish wriggling under his dress-shirt. " Dramione, Oneshot.


Boats, Cake And Other Catastrophes

**Authors Note: It's not one of my best ones, but it's something which is more than I can say about the last few years. Hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of it's characters.**

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The afternoon was cool and crisp with a decidedly spring smell wafting in through the window in the apartment. Outside, everything was the picture of calm. Children were laughing happily, fathers began mowing their lawns, couples strolled and found perfect places in the park for picnics. In one particular apartment, however, all was more accurately described as chaos. A flurry of flour and butter exploded into both the air and one very agitated Draco Malfoy.

"Merlin! I'm going to break this mechanical contraption apart piece by piece!" Draco's eyes were narrow slits in his pale, angled face, his mouth set in a grim line. This was never going to work, he didn't even know why he bothered in the first place. He especially had no idea why he thought listening to Potter was his best bet; babies had more brains than nature had saw fit to give Harry. "Why did it have to be cake? And why couldn't I just conjure one?" He was a wizard. A damned good one too, and yet somehow people always seemed to want him to do this disgusting manual labour. Hermione even refused to let him use magic to make the bed, she claimed it was a waste. In his view, what was a waste was not being allowed to use his natural born talents and years of training to make his life easier. Or to even make his damned girlfriend a cake.

Harry coughed the flour out of his lungs and dusted off his shirt; really he should have known better than to wear black while cooking with someone so ignorant of hard work. "Calm down, Ferret. You just need to be gentle with things." Harry flicked on the electric mixer again, slowly this time, and thankfully avoided inhaling another cup full of flour. "Now put the eggs in."

"Whatever."

Harry heard several crunching sounds and a loud squeak from the mixer. He could have just whacked his head right down on the bench there and then. "I didn't mean the shell too! Do you know nothing about cooking?" As quickly as he could harry turned off the mixer and stared dismayed at the concoction of flour, milk, butter and eggshell. It took more self-control than he thought he had to not yell in Malfoy's face. Harry massaged his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "You made the mess, you pick the eggshell out." He leaned back against the batter covered bench and watched Draco's nose wrinkle in distaste.

"I'm not putting my hands in that. Again, what is the point in making this bloody thing?" Draco pushed the bowl away with a scowl, his hand coming away sticky.

It was Harry's turn to scowl. "You wanted help doing something special for your girlfriend, remember?"

"I remember that, but why did it have to be bloody cake? Isn't there a more hygienic way to propose?" He hadn't wanted to do the same old as everyone else. Hermione was special, and Merlin knew he was as well. It needed to be a proposal that went down in history. Draco couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't going to get that with a crunchy bird-fetus cake.

Harry wiped his hands on his pants and took off the ridiculous apron Hermione kept in her linen cupboard; pink with little white dots. "Next time you need advice on proposals, I'm not home." He grabbed his wallet and keys he'd dumped on the kitchen table when he came in. "Besides, the cake trick worked for me." With a small pop Harry was gone and Draco was left with a giant mess and no cake for his trouble. Running his hands through his hair (and instantly regretting that habit) his dark grey eyes lolled towards the ceiling; the cake splattered ceiling.

"How."

If he was going to clean this up manually, it'd take him at least two hours and more soap than he was sure he could buy in a shop; sometimes bulk just wasn't enough. However, he was a wizard. He was a great wizard! By the time it took him to clean up this ghastly mess, that devil of a cat Crookshanks wouldn't even have time to blink.

Pop.

It would figure that right that second his girlfriend decided to finish work and apparate home. "Draco. Malfoy. What did you do to my kitchen?" Hermione's wind swept curls framed her aghast expression. The way that her pretty chocolate-brown eyes bulged reminded him of some sort of insect and her voice was coming close on the Weasle's mother.

"Bugger it." Malfoy apparated out of the apartment, sick and tired of failing.

It had been a long week. Every day someone else had a new hair-brained idea for how he should propose to Hermione, and every day he somehow managed to mess everything up.

On Monday his mother had suggested putting the ring on a ribbon and tying it around a bunch of flowers. Simple, elegant, effective; everything seemed exactly what he had wanted. That was until he stepped inside the apartment and the pollen of the flowers he had chosen (bright red and yellow as homage to her old house team) set her off on an allergic reaction making both of their nights spent uncomfortably at the hospital. It took a full 10 hours for the hives that Hermione broke out in to subside. He was trying to be romantic, and damn near killed the love of his life.

On Tuesday, Ginny suggested a quiet romantic boat ride on the lake. He rented the one that Ginny had picked out, frilly umbrella and all. He tried to fool proof this one, practiced using those infernal oars even (why did these boats not move on their own?) until he was confident he wouldn't tip the boat. Late that afternoon he bought Hermione to the lake and lead her onto the little row boat. "Sit tight love, I just need to push it off a little." Draco leaned one foot out to push off from the mooring and as lady-luck would have it, slipped in the most un-delicate way possible and landed arse-first into the cold murky water. Needless to say, he didn't feel able to propose while there was a fish wriggling under his dress-shirt.

Wednesday should have been called off from the start. Neville can't be trusted with events of this magnitude, but Draco was starting to get desperate. Neville's idea was an interesting one, if a little strange. Neville was wonderful at Herbology (he better be if McGonagall was letting him teach students) and set him up with a 'message bush' that would write whatever he told it to. Everything in Draco's small garden started fine, small bushes forming messages out of their leaves, intricate weaves making his love visible for Hermione to read (he also made sure she wasn't going to die from these bushes). However, the perfectness didn't last long. It turned out that Draco had been a little too impatient waiting for the plants to grow at their own accelerated pace; in trying to get them to grow faster Draco had a garden that was up to his neck tall and covered in hedges as far as the space would allow; prickly hedges _thank you very much Neville_. Hermione was ranting on about the amount of pruning she'd have to do as she chopped him free of the branches.

When Thursday came and Blaize approached him, he was filled with renewed hope. If anyone could come up with a suave and sophisticated proposal, it was his best friend. "Having a bit of trouble getting that ring on 'Mione's finger, huh? Don't worry, I have your back." What Malfoy envisioned as sophisticated turned out to be so over-the-top it was hideous. Because of his, obviously misguided, trust in Blaize's ability to do the proposal justice he allowed his friend to organize the whole event. That was his biggest mistake. When Draco and Hermione arrived for their stroll through the park they were bombarded with fireworks, gymnasts, fire-eaters, balloons literally surrounding them and a band that were playing far too loud and close for comfort. When Hermione came home with him and inquired what all the craziness was about Draco mumbled something about Blaize being eccentric and made excuses to go to bed.

Friday was Potter's turn to make his proposal into more of a joke than it already was. All Draco wanted was to put the damned ring on his damn woman's hand and vow to love her for all the time he was allowed on this planet. Was that really too much for a guy to ask? He had worked so hard to get to this point; memories of school and torture and war and the struggle it was to get back to a place where he could hold his head high. It took him years to get over his muggle prejudices; though coming out the other side of the war kind of changed his outlook. More years to be able to cope with the constant whispers and rumours. Even more to be able to looked his disgrace of a father in the eye and tell him exactly what he thought of him. However, his major breakthrough came at the hands of no other than the brown-eyed bookworm with a mane of auburn.

She was so kind to him in the beginning he was sure she was the best liar he had ever met. His opinion changed after watching her, day after day, show compassion for him. She was sorry for what he had gone through, but he didn't see pity in those deep eyes. If he had to put a finger on when he had fallen for the brains of the Golden Trio, it was the moment when she had laid a hand over his, gently, cautiously, and whispered, "I forgive you, Draco." She was a far better person than he was in every sense of the word. Where he was callous, she was kind; where he was cowardly, she was brave and yet, she still didn't fit into the category of goody-two-shoes she was lumped with in school. She was loud and upfront and painfully honest, especially to him. She was everything, all at once and he loved her even more for it.

He had wanted to make everything special. He had wanted to make it memorable. He had wanted to make it the best proposal that anyone had ever seen. It just seemed like the odds were against him. The big oak tree he was sitting under dropped some leaves in the breeze, swaying calmly with the wind. Draco fished in his pocket for the little box that contained the ring he had spent months deciding on. In the middle of a gold band sat a bright red ruby surrounded by small little green gems. Their houses combined into one little ring.

"Am I ever going to have a chance to give you to her?" He asked the ring with a tired sigh.

"Give what to me?" Hermione strolled over to where her boyfriend sat propped up against the tree, a little box clenched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were turning white.

Draco spluttered and coughed, trying to find words. "He-Hermione, love. I, ahhh- well. Um, would you, possibly. Maybe, well... hopefully. Ah." The look on Draco's face was pure panic, and Hermione had never seen anything like it. His face was flushed, his hair in unorganized disarray, his eyes were wide with fear and she was willing to bet his hands were slick with sweat.

Before he could even get the words out, she kissed him softly on the mouth, smiling . "Yes, Draco Malfoy. I'll marry you."

"Even without flowers or boats or cake?"

"That stuff all over the kitchen was cake?"

"..."

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**Let me know what you thought while I go and catch up on some well needed sleep. **

**Thanks guys!**

**-Brown-eyed Wolf**


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